


Bright Sparks

by No_eyed_deer



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_eyed_deer/pseuds/No_eyed_deer
Summary: Pietro has left the Brotherhood and is finding life in Magneto's cold steel bunker very uninspiring. He makes an unlikely friend in the resident pyro-psycho John Allerdyce, who has a secret to share with Pietro.
Relationships: John Allerdyce/Pietro Maximoff, Lance Alvers/Pietro Maximoff
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, coming here may not have been his best decision.

Pietro stared at the stark metal walls, somehow less desirable than the cracked and slime encrusted walls of the crumbling boarding house he had left with far too much gravitas to ever return. It was nice to have food and hot water and team members who didn't replace your hair product with superglue, but he somehow fit in even less here.

How was that even possible when his own father had invited him here? Mind you, it hadn't exactly been the lovey-dovey family reunion he'd given up on hoping for years ago. 

"Don't expect special treatment here, Pietro," his father had said, escorting him into his exceptionally paranoid and creepy bunker. "You are a useful recruit, just like the others. You would do well to call me Magneto to avoid any ill feelings." Oh yeah, his dad - Magneto - the cold, grey metal man. 

Everything here was metal. The walls, the toilets, even the soft furnishings all had metal frames. There was even a recruit who turn himself into metal. Was that guy ever screwed if he wanted to leave Magneto - he'd be back before he could say fridge magnet. 

And added to the metal environment was an air of severity. Gone were the Brotherhood days of staying up, sleeping in and throwing pizza at the ceiling for entertainment. Here there was a strict routine. Here there was a gym and a harsh training schedule. Here there seemed to be no conversations, let alone friendships.

Not that he'd particularly want to befriend any of them. For starters, Sabretooth was completely terrifying. He spoke a mixture of monosyllables and growls and stank so badly of musk, it was hard to believe he had any human in him at all. For that reason, nobody bothered to call him Viktor and stayed out of his way. Then there was the aforementioned metal man, Piotr. He was huge in the way Fred was and never said a word other than "yes, boss". That was more than made up for Remy, who Pietro found arrogant and sleazy. This reminded him too much of himself, only he couldn't be like that here. Then there was John who did not seem to be completely compos mentis, breaking into random fits of laughter and flicking that damn lighter all the time...

No, they were not friend material. And besides, they all hated his guts. They called him Princess, took it out on him in training when Magneto wasn't looking and raided his room to make sure he wasn't getting any unfair privileges just because of a little thing like shared DNA. 

Then, of course, there was the fact that they were men and, much as he liked to puff out his chest and pretend to be a man, he was still very much a boy. There were certain missions he was deemed too young for; tonight's being one of them. Pietro had taken that as an opportunity to do some snooping and see if anybody had a particularly dirty secret he could use as leverage. Perhaps Remy had a stuffed toy collection, or ol' Sabre liked to dress up as an adult baby? Giggling at the thought, he paused in the kitchen to make a sandwich before commencing Operation Snoop Maxxy Max.

"Oi!" A voice called from the clinical looking black couch with the aforementioned metal frame.

Pietro sighed inwardly at the realisation he was not alone, and worse, he was in the company of weird John the fire guy. He held up a hand as a non-commital half-wave in response.

"Alright?"

At this, Pietro raised an eyebrow. Why should he care? "Er yeah, I'm fine. Are - are you alright?"

The answer to that one was clearly no. This was the guy who had a conversation with lit matches. But John predictably laughed, his spiked hair bouncing with each yelp of laughter.

"Nah mate, you don't respond to 'Alright?' It's a greeting." He frowned for a second, grey eyes darting from one side to another with thought. "Actually, when you think about it, that is bloody stupid."

Grabbing the chance to have a conversation with both hands, Pietro sat down in an opposite armchair. "You're Australian," he observed.

John grinned, showing dimples and eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled from too much of that manic laughter. "Nah, I just watched Crocodile Dundee snd thought it would be fun to do the accent."

"And you're sarcastic too! Wonderful," quipped Pietro in return. He gave John one of his cold blue stares but his eyes sparkled, betraying his sudden curiosity. "Why aren't you out on that mission?"

Too insane was surely the answer.

John shrugged boredly. "Too young."

Now Pietro was unashamedly curious. "But I've never seen you at school. Are you..." He searched for one of his phrases, remembering how his father had once told him to use somebody's language if you wanted to make them comfortable enough to get information out of them. "Are you taking the piss?"

John mimed raising a toast to Pietro, appreciating his effort. "Nice. But nah, I really am too young. Eighteen, but only just. I can't go to school here because it's too much of a faff to switch from the school system back home. And Americans are thick as shit, I would be bored stupid sitting in one of your classrooms."

Rather than be offended, Pietro merely shrugged. He felt the same way. His mind worked so fast that he was constantly learning, and having to sit there in a classroom and listen to idiots talk at a snail's pace was actually painful. School was particularly crappy now, with his ex team-mates showing their displeasure at him leaving at every opportunity. While Fred used aggression and Todd taunted him, Lance was by far the worst. Lance, who would look at him with hurt eyes like a dog who'd been kicked, until he realised Pietro was looking back and then his face would change to a murderous scowl. Pietro had not only burned those bridges, he'd swept up the ashes and made it seem like no bridges ever existed.

But here, here was a chance to make a new friend his own age. Even if that friend was likely to cut off his eyelashes and carry them round with him in a tiny baggie.

"I thought you were older," Pietro offered, though now that he actually looked at John, he could see he didn't look that old. 

"Yeah well, don't tell the old bucket-headed purple menace. He thinks I'm twenty five."

Pietro snorted, starting to ease back into his old character. "Bucket-headed purple menace. What is that? Is that what you call your penis?"

Now it was John's turn to snort and Pietro was surprised to see him dig out a little black notebook and scribble something in there. "You're sharp. Funny. I like that, Speedo."

"Speedo?"

"Yeah, not 'cos you're fast but 'cos you spend a lot of time hanging around men's crotches."

Wait, what? This John was verbally sparring with him. Nobody ever did that.

"Get this kid a comedy gig, he's on fire," Pietro returned drily. 

John actually leapt up, excited. Pietro wondered if he'd poked the beast a little too much. 

"It is so good to speak to somebody who's actually witty. Thank fuck!"

It was strange, because that was Pietro's overriding feeling. It was weirdly thrilling to get a taste of his own medicine.

"Whatever, Flames McGee. You know you put the retard in fire retardant?"

"I'm Australian and even I find that offensive," John returned, though he didn't look offended at all. In fact he looked pleased.

Pietro's curiosity would now be considered fatal to cats. 

"What's your deal?" He found himself asking, suddenly wishing he had a little notebook like John's to take down notes on the boy like a shrink. "Why does my father want a crazy guy like you on his team?"

John held up a finger, pointing at his face as though framing it. Pietro saw that he had painted that fingernail yellow for some reason. "Never underestimate the power of ruthless arson. I'm the scare tactic, the performance factor, the destroyer... but... I'm not crazy."

Sensing he might've said the wrong thing, Pietro held up his hands as if to say 'please don't set my hair on fire'.

"Nah mate, I mean... I'm not really crazy." His grey eyes shone with the deliciousness of dropping a juicy secret. "It's an antic disposition."

"Hamlet," Pietro interjected, with finger guns.

"See, I knew you were clever."

"But why are you pretending to be crazy? You planning to kill Magneto? Something is is rotten in the state of Bayville, huh?" Pietro ran with the plot of Hamlet, enjoying the chance to show off his intellect. "But if you do want to kill my dad, don't hide behind a curtain and stab him. He'll sense the blade and turn you into a kebab before you can say 'soliloquy'."

And John clapped enthusiastically. "You actually know Shakespeare! I could fucking cry. Anyway, my mad act... It keeps everyone off my back. Better to make people wary of you than have them scare the shit out of you."

Pietro cocked his head to one side, considering. It actually made a lot of sense. Everybody left John alone - even Magneto.

"I guess I do a similar thing," he admitted. "I act like a total douchebag so that people don't know the truth."

John clicked the pen he'd been using to write with, which Pietro now noticed was patterned with flames. Of course. "And... What is that?" He asked hungrily.

Pietro leaned in confidentially, his voice a grave whisper. "I'm mostly a douchebag, but also a jerk."

Having been so silent and rapt waiting for a terrible secret, John stayed still for a beat. Then, recognition registering on his face, he laughed and clapped Pietro on the back. "Nice one, mate. Very slick. Now, I reckon it's my turn to ask you a question."

Pietro tried to look nonchalant, but he didn't like revealing too much of himself. "Shoot."

"Why've you got an Italian name when your dad's a Polish Jew?"

That was not what he'd expected, and Pietro did not know the answer. "He really likes pizza," he quipped. "My turn. Why have you got such a boring name?"

John eyed him suspiciously. "Because that's not really my name."

When Pietro could see that he was not going to divulge any further, he pressed on.  
"Well, what is it?"

"Guess."

"Fuck off, Rumpleshitskin."

For some reason, John really seemed to love getting insulted. He muttered Pietro's words back to himself, chuckling.

"Unless your name is Cynthia, I'm not gonna sit here all night going through every name I know. Not that there's anything better to do in this place," glancing around the bare and metallic space. "So? Out with it."

Now fiddling with his lighter, a little pinker in the cheeks, John muttered his name.

"Singeing? You mean to tell me your actual name is a fire pun?!"

John glanced upwards considering, as if he somehow hadn't realised the fire connection. "Not singeing, mate. St.John."

Pietro floundered, not hearing any difference between the two words John had just said. Frustrated, John tore off a page of his notebook and scrawled his name for Pietro to see.

"Yeah, it looks like Saint John but you pronounce it Sinjun. Or singeing. And no bugger ever gets it right, so I've been John most of my life."

"But St.John is much more interesting," Pietro said. "John is like some forty year old guy who works in an office and plays pool at the bar on Thursdays."

John shook his head in impressed disbelief at Pietro's imagery. "True, but... Sinjun's a pisser of a name. That, and the fact it makes me sound like a posho."

Posho. Pietro picked up the Aussie slang eagerly, ignoring how much he was enjoying the whole exchange with John. 

"Yeah, St.John plays polo at weekends because all week he's up at boarding school in merry old England and he pops back in the private jet for tea," Pietro trilled in an exceptionally plummy accent.

"Ah, bugger off," nudged John good-naturedly. "You have a good imagination and a way with words. Do you write?"

He said this in such a matter of fact way that it shocked Pietro, who wasn't used to hearing about his skills unless he was bigging them up himself. "Sometimes," he admitted. "I can write a trilogy in two hours."

John was smiling naturally now, and looking far more pleasant for it. "A trilogy, huh? What's your genre?"

Pietro felt embarrassed. Naked, as if John was exposing the most real parts of himself. He scoffed, picking up his arrogant facade like armour. "My mind works at super-speed, Flamey. You name it, I've written it. I'm guessing you write, unless that notebook of yours is some kind of American phrase book so you don't start blabbering about boomerangs and kangaroos."

"Relax, I'm not going to break into Waltzing Matilda," replied John, though he did look a tiny bit hurt. "I am trying to bloody integrate. Apart from where cricket is concerned," he added.

"So... Is it a phrase book?"

"Course it's bloody not!" John chuckled, throwing the aforementioned book at Pietro's forehead. "Just ideas, scribbles, phrases which inspire me."

Pietro, who was now holding the book, nodded towards it. "May I?"

John shrugged. Pietro noticed how broad his shoulders were - more rugby than cricket. 

Carefully, Pietro opened the book to the last page. John's writing was large and slanted, but his spelling was good. It made a change from Lance's dyslexic notes with crude pornographic drawings.

'Cobalt, cat smirk, impish, raven's wing'

"Character study," John nodded. "Should be flattered, mate."

Seeing that Pietro was wrinkling his nose trying to see the connection, John lifted his book from Pietro's hands and tucked it back in his pocket knowingly. "Don't worry, I'll pad it out. I hope you don't mind. I wrote one about the sexy Cajun too."

"Just what the hell are you writing about us?!" Pietro demanded, more than a little affronted by the adjective 'impish'.

"Okay, don't judge me," John began, placing his pen on the table. Somehow, during fiddling with it, he'd managed to draw all over his palm. 

"I sure as hell will judge you," was Pietro's frosty response. 

John's lip twitched with a suppressed smile. He really seemed to like Pietro's attitude, which was somewhat disarming.

"I make a quick buck writing romance stories for ladies' mags," John explained. "Don't laugh. It's a couple of hundred per story."

Hovering between flattered and offended, Pietro took a long glare at John. Here was a guy his age who read, who wrote, who was funny... He kind of hated him and wanted him to be his best friend all at once.

"Didn't have you down as a trashy romance writer," Pietro finally said. "But I can see how you'd be drawn to me as the romantic hero," he bragged. 

"Mischievous. Sassy. Housewives will lap it up," John agreed. "Though I'll probably change your hair colour - white hair will never translate well on the page."

Pietro brought a hand to his crowning glory self-consciously. "Fuck off, ginger," he returned. John was one to talk, with his sandy toned hair that was one step away from full on orange.

But John just laughed. "Fair game, fair game. And don't take it personally, I like your weird grandad hair."

Pietro gave John a withering look, but he was faintly amused at the exchange. And there was a lot he wanted to know about the faux-crazy, romance-writing Australian teen masquerading as an adult. He'd start with the thing that was most sparking hiz interest.

"Why do you get inspired by me and LeBeau? You gay or something?"

John glanced. "Would that matter?" He said directly, looking ready for a fight. Pietro recognised that readiness all too well.

"Do I look like a homophobe?" He spat. "Please say no, because bigots are the fucking stupidest ugly knuckle-draggers alive," he added to diffuse some of that tension.

"Well, I'm not," John said quickly. "Gay, that is. I just like what I like, if you know what I mean."

This was music to Pietro's ears, so much so that he had to check to see there wasn't a string quartet in the room. He tried not to look too pleased, so he simply said, "That's cool."

John was giving him a pointed look as if to say "And...?"

Drumming his feet until they were a blur, Pietro hesitated. Would he be giving too much away? You didn't roll over and show your belly immediately. But then, John had already shared that he was the same... And Pietro was growing to like him quite a bit - god knows it would be good to have somebody he didn't have to lie to quite so much here.

"I'm like you," Pietro said with a firm little nod, almost formal as if he should add sir at the end. "I date girls, I've been with guys. People are people, man - I'm not gonna limit myself if they're hot."

He watched John's eyes spark with warm recognition. "Exactly, mate. Exactly."

Thrilled by the prospect to actually discuss sexuality for once, Pietro went on. "Lots of people think I'm straight up gay because of my killer fashion sense and bitchy attitude."

"Nah, I saw you looking at Jean Grey's arse in that battle. Don't blame you one bit, she is a work of art. But I did know about you anyway," John said easily. "When we were scoping your Brotherhood out, I saw how you and Alvers looked at each other."

This made a lump of ice fall into Pietro's belly. Ix-Nay on the ance-Lay.

But John didn't understand telepathic pig Latin.

"Were you boning?" John asked boldly, lip curling in a distinctly attractive sleazy manner.

Too crude. Ouch. Pietro tried to look nonchalant. "Whatever we were doing, it's stopped now. Since joining Magneto's metal menagerie, I'm dead to him."

Now John's tone softened as he apologised and he moved closer to Pietro, who inwardly screamed at himself for sounding so dramatic. Though he was quite pleased with the alliteration, which he hoped the young writer would notice.

"I'm sure he'll forgive you," John was saying, though Pietro knew Lance would sooner wear a dress and pigtails to school. "And if he doesn't, he's a prick because you're a fucking catch."

It wasn't like Pietro had never been told this before - pretty much everywhere he went, at least one person commented on how gorgeous he was. His own self-esteem was pretty good too. But he found himself blushing and brushing off John's remarks for a reason he would file away under Immediately Forget Developing Crush.

Oh. John was still talking.

"Seems like you had a pretty good setup with the Brotherhood. No adults checking up on you. I imagine things went a bit Lord of the Flies sometimes but it's got to be better than being stuck in this glorified filing cabinet. Did you want to come here?"

Pietro gave him an incredulous look. "Fuck, no. But would you say no to my father?"

Nobody said no Magneto. Not when he could twist your blood painfully or simply give you that ice-stabbing look that held so much disappointment and contempt.

"Mate, the man terrifies me so much I pretend to be full blown Jack Nicholson just to stop him talking to me. I'm sorry you've got him for a dad."

Wow. Double wow. Triple wow. Nobody had ever said these words to Pietro, but they were somehow what he'd wanted to hear for a long, long time. He'd known John about ten minutes and he got it. Why couldn't Lance see it that way?

Sensing that things were getting somewhat emotionally loaded, John slapped his thighs suddenly, laying his lighter on the table. 

"Fuck this. The others won't be back 'til morning, what do you say we have some fun? I know where Sabre keeps his weed," John wheedled, tapping the side of his nose knowingly.

Pietro eyed John under his dark lashes, impressed. "You'd seriously steal his catnip?"

"Funny you should say that," John replied, a mischievous grin all but cracking his face. "Because that's what I top up his stash with when I've smoked it."

And now Pietro knew: he had to be friends with this guy.


	2. There May Be Trouble Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro and Johnny have new opportunities to get into trouble together, Pietro runs into Lance and Johnny drops a bombshell.

When he was sure nobody was looking, Pietro threw John a cheesy wink from across the training room. John was ladling on the madness a bit thick, laughing like a possessed chipmunk as he engulfed a dummy in a flame tornado. When he yelped, "Throw another prick on the barbie, mate!", Pietro had to hide a snort of laughter into Remy's shoulder, who he was attempting to throw judo style.

Quickie and Pyro had become fast friends, only they had to conduct their friendship when nobody else was around. This happened quite a lot due to whatever mission the others were on that didn't require a maniacal fire mutant. With John benched, Erik had told Pietro he needed to watch John very, very closely to make sure nothing went up in flames. Little did Daddy Buckethead know that John and Pietro were lighting up joints that were definitely not catnip. Afterwards, Pietro would zip around the place in a super-speed whirlwind, killing any remaining scent.

Sometimes, late at night, John would slip a half written ridiculous story under Pietro's door and Pietro would finish it off in a deliberately awful manner. The one they had written narrated by Xavier's penis was a particular masterpiece. Pietro would also slip John books that he borrowed from the school library, where he was spending a lot of time avoiding Lance. In a couple of days, John would return the book in an almost comic display of secrecy with his review hidden inside the front cover.

And John loved to do or say things under the mask of insanity that he knew would amuse Pietro. Which led Pietro to this moment where, having successfully thrown Remy into his metallic team-mate, he was suddenly being chased by a giant flame kangaroo and having to endure John's manic snatches of Kylie Minogue. Thank god for super-speed, where Pietro could run through fire and laugh at the top of his voice without anybody knowing. Just as Pietro was about to resculpt the kangaroo into something more phallic and turn it back on John, an icy presence announced itself in the room: a levitating Magneto with a glare that could sharpen diamonds. 

All activity stopped immediately and five pairs of eyes turned to their master.

"There is an urgent development concerning our current mission. Gambit, Sabretooth and Colossus; you will pack enough for five days and meet me outside in ten minutes."

The three mutants in question stood solider still and nodded, before Magneto waved a gloved hand to dismiss them. His polar blue eyes rested on the remaining two.

"Pyro, Quicksilver," he began. Since joining the team, Pietro had been addressed only by his codename. It stung.

"You will remain here. This is a great level of responsibility and I hope you will not betray my trust."

There was an unspoken threat about what would happen should anything happen to the place or each other. Pietro had the good sense to look wary when he glanced at John, then to look back at his father with a firm nod to affirm that he could babysit the crazy one for a few days. John gave a similar nod to show he would protect the precious heir.

Magneto handed Pietro a set of metal keys - no keyrings of course, nothing to betray any hint of personality. Then he was gone, leaving the two boys looking at each other in disbelief.

With nobody in earshot, John nudged Pietro in the ribs. "Five days of freedom, eh? Pretty good going!"

"Well, if you want to keep your balls or maybe not die, we can't fuck things up too much," Pietro replied, jingling the keys in his hand. 

John winked in response, positively simmering with mischief. Pietro immediately buried the thoughts that this wink arose. 

"I'm hitting the showers," he announced, suddenly extremely aware of how sweaty he was. Of course, he probably looked devastatingly handsome with beads of sweat clinging to his brow, hair hanging silver in his eyes...

"Poo, you stink!" John sang good-naturedly. 

"And you smell like Shane Warne's cup after a particularly tense match," returned Pietro, noting the wide smile that cracked John's face at the mention of cricket. Yeah, he'd researched it.

Pietro jerked his thumb in the direction of the shower block. "Come on, wizard of Oz. By the time we wash the stink of those morons off us, they'll be gone."

So they showered. Pietro heard John singing from his cubicle - surprisingly, for such a wordy young man, John didn't seem to know the lyrics to most songs so would make up his own instead. Or worse, he would mash two songs messily into each other.

"Don't stop believing, dancing on the ceiling," crooned John as he emerged from his cubicle, towel not around his waist but tucked under his armpits like a girl would do it.

Pietro liked how unashamed John was about everything. His bad singing, his goofy way of wearing a towel, the direct way he stared at his team-mate's body approvingly...

Not that Pietro was looking at John's broad shoulders and big, sturdy thighs. He busied himself with dressing and styling his hair, occasionally treating John to a harmony or some deliberately terrible dancing. As soon as he was ready, he zipped around the place to check that the coast was clear and returned in a second, pulling the hood of John's sweatshirt over his head as he did so.

"We're officially home alone!" He announced, smirking as John attempted to re-spike his hair from where the hood had flattened it. "I've got this crazy idea I should run out and steal beer. Think you can handle that, Flames?"

John whooped with delight. "Let's get on it, Speedo!"

Not needing to be told twice, Pietro sped out into the open air surrounding the bunker. Although he left to go to school every day, this time he felt much more free. The blur of trees, shops and front gardens seemed so much more colourful and Pietro found he was singing at the top of his voice as he ran; the unashamed way John would sing except with correct lyrics and more tuneful (if Pietro dared say so himself). He effortlessly lifted a crate of beer from the little off-licence, packing his pockets with various snacks too. 

Just as he was leaving the store, something made him stop in his tracks. Or rather, someone.

Lance Alvers was standing outside the store, taking a long drag on a cigarette. His long dark hair hung so much in his face that his features were hardly visible, save for those sculpted cheekbones. Once he saw that Pietro was standing next to him, he extinguished the cigarette and turned to leave with eyes like black slits in his face.

"When are you going to drop this, Lance?" Pietro found himself saying, in a voice that didn't sound quite as controlled as he wanted it to.

"We're done, Maximoff," Lance growled with his back still to Pietro. "You ditched us, we're through with you."

Pietro put the crate (and his pride) on the ground. "But I... miss you," he admitted.

Lance lost his demeanour for a second, soul flooding his eyes. Then he hardened again. "You chose to leave. Fuckin' traitor." 

He nudged the crate with his foot, still refusing to look at Pietro. "Looks like you're having a little party with your new pals."

Despite all of his hurt and anger, Pietro could see that Lance still cared enough to disapprove of Pietro's team-mates. And rightly so, they were pretty terrifying. 

"So what if I am, you think I'm gonna be a loner for the rest of my life; crying over you guys?", he shot back, acid stinging every word.

Now Lance did look at Pietro, disappointment clear on his face. "But those guys? Man, they're actually bad. And they're old. Don't come crying to us when you get arrested or raped or something."

It felt like fire was spreading through Pietro's veins and his heart was pounding like it might escape. "Well, what do you care?"

There was the pain in Lance's eyes again, like he'd been punched. "Pietro, I'll always care," he said, frowning when he saw the hope flicker on Pietro's face. "But as far as I'm concerned, I don't know you anymore. Have a good night."

There was nothing Pietro could say in that moment, so he watched Lance leave, eyes full. If ever he needed a beer, it was now. He picked up the crate and ran all the way back, no longer enjoying the surroundings. Not thinking, just running and running.

By the time he reached the door of the bunker, Pietro's arms were starting to lag under the weight of the crate. He placed it on the ground in relief, using the dull metal key to unlock the dull metal door and then all but kicking the crate of beer into the hallway.

"Honey, I'm home!", he called, attempting to sound as chipper as possible though it felt like the Blob had just sat on his heart.

He heard John's gallumphing footsteps come down the stairs before skidding sock-clad across the hall to reunite with his friend (and the beer - mostly the beer). 

Without a word, John tore open the crate and took out two beers, opening both. He raised his high, inviting Pietro to do the same.

"A toast," he announced, "to your dear old man for leaving me in excellent company."

"I am excellent company," smirked Pietro as he clicked bottles with John and took a long swig.

They retired to the black, clinical looking couch where they'd first spoken to each other.

"I ordered pizza," announced John. "Hope you don't mind but I've got a lot of pig on mine. Er, mazel tov and all that."

Indeed, the kosher household had not gone down well with some of the mutants. Sabretooth particularly seemed to miss bacon in the morning, not that it would have placate his ferocious nature much.

Pietro merely shrugged and chugged some more beer. John scooted closer to Pietro and examined his face. They were at the stage in their friendship now where physical closeness was kind of acceptable, but still a little weird. As in, it was weird when John traced a fingertip along his cheek.

"Were you crying?" Not an accusation, like the Brotherhood boys would do. 

Still, Pietro found himself denying it. "What? No! My eyes water when I run sometimes. Pollution."

But he knew John wasn't stupid. "Bullshit. You okay, mate?"

Ugh. Why did people have to care about him and be nice to him? Pietro found it infinitely easier to be a jerk when people were also jerks.

"I ran into Alvers," he admitted when John's soft grey stare would not let up. "We actually had a conversation. But not a good one, and probably our last."

John sucked in his breath in the way people do to emphasise with the idea of something being painful. "That's a bugger. Was he mean to you? Do I need to go round there and set his pubes on fire?"

Unsurprisingly, this image did offer Pietro some twisted comfort. Still, Lance hadn't really done anything wrong. Not like he had. 

"No, Lance isn't mean," Pietro said dully. "He's just really hurt that I left. He said you guys are probably to get me arrested or rape me."

This made John hoot in disbelief. "Well, I can't speak for Sabre or Gambit but I bloody won't. Still... I mean... Him saying that, he obviously cares for you. That's good."

Pietro sighed. "Yeah, he said he's always going to care about me. And that's worse, because he wants nothing to do with me."

"Headfuck," commented John.

"Very," responded Pietro.

There was a moment of silence where John drew out his little notebook, flicking through it for something. Then he found it, exclaiming loudly as if suddenly excited. "But this is just a classic romance plot!"

"No, billabong, it's real life. Shitty, painful, tear your heart out, real life."

"Yeah, life is bollocks but I promise you, Speeds - all is not lost here. Look, Lance isn't over you. You know that, I know that, the little green men in space probably know that. You can find a way back in."

Pietro gave John extremely doubtful side-eye. "How?"

Crossing to the crate to retrieve two more beers, John paused thoughtfully. "Well, you could start by saying you're sorry. And by telling him the truth: that if you didn't go with your dad, your life probably wouldn't be worth living."

"Why do you get that and he doesn't?" Pietro whined, stretching his long legs over the top of the couch.

"Because I'm a bloody good bloke," John reflected. "Forever friendzoned for it too," he added, grinning sharkishly at Pietro.

Was it hot in there? Pietro glanced away from John. In the past, he'd have jumped on Johnny by now. But he knew from Lance that crossing the line between friends and lovers didn't work out so well.

Pyro could certainly read minds because he said, "Relax, Speedo. As if I'm gonna hit on you when you're clearly loopy for Lance."

Pietro flashed him a genuine smile. "You are a good bloke. And thanks, Johnny... I guess I owe him the truth."

"Johnny," the boy in question beamed to himself. It was rare for the two to call each other their real names, even less so a kind of pet name. "It's a pleasure, Pete. You know me, big old romantic. I'll be bloody overjoyed to see it work out for you."

And he really looked it too. Pietro almost wanted to hug him, but that was probably the beer.

They were interrupted by the pizzas arriving. True to his word, John had ordered one for himself with as many pork products on it as possible. For Pietro, he had ordered one which the menu had called "Speedy Pizza". Quite why or how it was speedier than any other pizza was unclear, but it tasted good and seemed to be more kosher than Johnny's pig massacre.

Once they had gorged on pizza and consumed several beers, they retired to Johnny's bunk where they both lay staring up at the ceiling and making plans for the next five days.

"How about you run us to New York and get us a stint on Broadway?"

"With your singing? People'd pay you not to."

"Can you run us to Australia?"

Pietro actually paused to consider this. He had crossed the border comfortably by super-speed...

Johnny lobbed a pillow at him. "Are you seriously thinking about it, Quickie? I don't want to go back to Oz - my mum's got a right bollocking waiting for me."

"I absolutely could run to Australia. Piece of cake," sniffed Pietro. "Anyway, here's a real idea. On Tuesday afternoon there's an open mic poetry cafe in town. Seriously man, you should read there."

Johnny swallowed twice. "Tuesday afternoon, eh? Don't you have school?"

Raising himself up on an elbow to smirk at his friend, Pietro scoffed. "Don't think I'm supposed to leave you here on your own, Hamlet. And it's not like you have plans on a Tuesday."

But this time, Pietro caught Johnny swallow again. Saw the shifty glance from left to right.

"Oh, so you do have plans? What, does my father have you visiting Baldy Xavier for therapy? Those two go way back."

Why the hell did Johnny look so nervous?

"I'm not supposed to tell you -"

If ever anything was kryptonite to Pietro, it was the notion of a secret. "What the fuck, John - Johnny? Not supposed to tell me what?"

He was getting more agitated by the second, demanding more and more to know what was being kept from him.

"I can't, I'm really not supposed to say," moaned Johnny, burying his face in his hands to hide from Pietro's pleading. "Magneto said you weren't to know about it. And if he finds out I told you, he'll either kill or deport me. Or both."

Pietro was pacing now, mind running at a million miles an hour. "You have to tell me! You can't leave it dangling like that and not tell me!"

A strangled noise of frustration came from under the pillow that Johnny had now clamped over his head.

"My father doesn't have to know I know. I'm good at keeping secrets... I've had to keep so many."

Johnny threw the pillow off his face. "It's not like I don't think you should know. It's just..."

He looked more serious than Pietro had ever seen him. A block of lead sank to the bottom of Pietro's stomach. "Just... Tell me. I promise I won't say a word."

"Right. Right. You really won't say or do anything?" A nod from Pietro affirmed it, so Johnny took a deep breath and began. "It turns out me feigning madness is useful for your dad after all. He sends me to the, er, asylum every Tuesday afternoon. He used to go himself, but it became too dangerous for him."

Asylum. That word was like claws tearing its way through Pietro's innards.

"Pete... I've been... I've been visiting your sister."

Oh god. It felt like that speedy pizza was about to resurface. Pietro trembled from head to foot, standing up and then sitting down, trying to catch his breath though it felt like his heart had stopped.

"Wanda," he whispered. 

Johnny pulled him down to sit, taking his clammy hands between his big paws. "This must be a really huge shock."

"Yes. No. Yes. Help?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. Fuck mate, I'm sorry."

There was something so childlike and vulnerable in Pietro's eyes - something almost identical to what Johnny occasionally saw in Wanda's eyes.

"Tell me about her," Pietro said, leaning his head into Johnny's shoulder. He felt faint, and Johnny smelled comforting, like firewood.

There was a twitch in Johnny's thumb, as if he was flicking an invisible lighter. Pietro knew he'd be choosing his words carefully.

"She looks just like you," Johnny started softly. "Only her hair is black and, sorry mate, but you seem to be the girly one."

Of course he'd try to lighten the mood. But Pietro wanted to drink in every detail.

"Her hair is a mess because they won't let her around scissors or even a comb. I put it in a braid for her once, like I used to do for my sister."

Pietro shivered. He didn't know how to feel that Johnny was making friends with his long-estranged sister. That she would let a virtual stranger touch her hair, but she wasn't allowed to see her own brother. And he wasn't supposed to know about any of this!

"I don't get it," he said. "You're supposed to be crazy. Why would he trust you in there with her when you can't even be left alone here?"

What Pietro had really wanted to say was: Why not me?

"There's a guard in the room at all times," Johnny replied. "And it's because he believes I won't tell since nobody speaks to me. Oh, and he gives me some sort of pill before I go. I pretend to take it."

The secrets, the drugging... Typical Magneto. No, Pietro didn't want to hear about that. 

Johnny seemed to sense this. "Let me tell you more about her. She's sharp, like you. Likes to play hangman and she's really good at drawing." Johnny let go of Pietro's hands to retrieve his notebook, flipping through until he found a sketch. "Her self portrait," he said.

Drinking in the image hungrily, Pietro saw a drawing of a girl with his eyes, only there was no life in them. She'd drawn her features exactly as he remembered them - the full lips with an almost impossibly perfect cupid's bow, the little scar on her forehead from their childhood mischief gone wrong. She'd drawn herself with the braid. Maybe it meant a lot to her that somebody had taken care of her like Johnny did. In that moment, he wanted it to be like Mary Poppins where he could step into the artwork and hold on to her forever.

"What else?" Pietro urged. He wanted to know everything, but most of all he wanted to be in Johnny's place where he could visit Wanda without any of the hurt and betrayal. 

Johnny smiled sadly. "She gets angry but she doesn't know why. Sometimes they bind her arms. Sometimes she's so doped up, she doesn't really know I'm there. I'm sorry, mate. I'm just trying to be honest with you. You deserve it and I should've told you sooner."

God, but Johnny was a good bloke. Even through his jealousy and shock, Pietro was grateful that Wanda had somebody like him. He was grateful that he had somebody like him.

He imagined poor Wanda, her childhood gone, locked away with the criminals and crazies. All the thoughts he'd tried to push back for so long in pranks and in beer and in boys and in girls flooded him.

Suddenly Johnny gave him a very intense look. "I must tell you this though; Wanda is not crazy. She's just a girl who lost a lot."

A lot. "Does she talk about..." Me? Pietro couldn't say it, so he pointed loosely to himself.

"I'm not allowed to talk about you or Magneto. It upsets her," Johnny said bluntly. "We keep it light - just playing games or reading, that kind of stuff. Once she said your name though. She was speaking Polish to herself so I don't know what she said, except she sounded upset."

The tiniest flutter of hope settled in Pietro's chest. "What if I went to see her?"

Johnny pulled away from him, shaking his head. "Christ, no. Do you know the kind of trouble we'd get in? And you can't just walk back into her life, Pete. She's fragile. You know that."

But Pietro was pacing again, pulling his hair in all sorts of crazy directions as he thought aloud. "I'll say I followed you there. I'll take the blame. He's my dad, he's not gonna kill me. I could threaten him to tell everyone about how he locked his own daughter up if he tries to punish us. I have to try. I have to at least try!"

Feeling like he was watching a tennis match as Pietro darted from side to side, Johnny offered his viewpoint. "That is a bloody dreadful idea, mate."

"Is it?" Pietro stopped dead, staring at his friend. "You have a sister, right? Tell me you wouldn't do the same if you were in this extremely fucked up and niche situation."

Reluctantly, Johnny nodded. "But that doesn't mean I don't think you're completely bonkers. I mean, seeing you again could really mess her up."

"Or it could make her better," Pietro offered stubbornly.

It was clear to Johnny that Pietro was not one to be talked down from a plan, no matter how stupid or dangerous it was. And this one really was both stupid and dangerous. He sighed in resignation. "Just... Be careful, yeah? Wanda's my friend. You too," he added, squeezing his friend's shoulder affectionately.

'I do not deserve this human being,' Pietro thought. Or, at least it seemed that he thought it, except Johnny was smirking like he'd said those words loud and clear... 

"You're getting the hang of our Aussie bluntness now. "

Still, he looked delighted. Pietro swallowed his pride and continued. "I mean it, man. I've been through it tonight and you were there. You've helped me with Lance shit, you're helping Wanda, you're helping me with Wanda... I feel I should help you. Which I don't offer very often, so if you need me to run out and steal anything or listen to your woes or skip you back to Oz for a snog with Kylie, just say the word."

There was Johnny's wide, genuine smile with the crinkled eyes. "Just one thing..."

"Your wish is my command," said Pietro with a ridiculous flourish.

"Talk about a fairy godmother," quipped Johnny, making Pietro shrug good-naturedly in defeat. 

Johnny leaned in to reveal his wish, the grey in his eyes glittering blue like the centre of a flame. "So... There's this posho school down the road. Nick us some cricket stuff and I'll teach you to play."


	3. A Master Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Johnny's help, Pietro hatches a devious plan that could benefit everyone. Well, nearly everyone...

The second day of being home alone began, on Johnny's part, with a hangover. He knew that as soon as he opened his eyes, which he only opened because Pietro was using his super-speed to roll the blind up and down until the constant flickering woke him up.

"Whaaaaaaaaaat?" Johnny moaned, burying his face in his pillow. "Am I in hell?"

Pietro, already dressed and wearing a disgustingly chipper smile suggesting an apparent immunity to hangovers, presented a glass of water to his friend.

Johnny received it gladly and took a swig, turning green immediately at the taste of its contents. "Jesus!"

"I added sugar and salt," Pietro explained, still with that smile that was practically verging on smug. "It'll rehydrate you. I know - I'm an angel."

"More like Satan's bumboy," grimaced Johnny. His first quip of the day was a weak one, but it was enough to make Pietro throw a balled up sock at him. 

In a groggy voice, accent thick, he asked, "Why'd you wake me up? Nobody's here. We've got nothing on."

Not missing a beat, Pietro glanced at Johnny from under his lashes knowingly. "You certainly haven't!"

"Ah, fuck off! I meant no plans; we have no plans, nothing to do."

Despite himself, Pietro felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. It wasn't fair to wake Johnny Firecrackers up just because he was having a million and one epic feelings about Wanda (and possibly two hundred or so less epic feelings about Lance on top of that). He needed, as ever, distraction from himself. And so far today he had already hand washed and ironed every item of laundry, done all his homework, deep cleaned the shower room, been to the beach to practice super speed swimming, written a spoof of the musical Cats starring Sabretooth and Wolverine and read one of Colossus' Russian books until he could say he could comfortably speak Russian.

"Er, Pete?"

"Da? I mean, yes?"

Johnny gave him that trademark half-smirk. "Go practice your cricket. You sucked balls at it last night, but if you keep it up, you might be almost as good as me by lunchtime."

Ah, that old trick. It was not the first time Pietro had been sent out to play to give whoever it was some peace from his relentless Pietrocity. Still, he realised that it brought promise of playing another game with Johnny. Last night had been fun. Of course, he hadn't needed to steal the cricket whites along with the equipment, but he knew that he looked positively jawdroppingly suave in the crisp sweater and white trousers - and Johnny didn't look too bad in them either.

"Point taken, buddy," he said to Johnny. "I know that with your feeble slug metabolism, you need to lie here and die some more."

With a long sigh, Johnny heaved himself up and, of course, Pietro didn't notice the impressive rippling muscles in his bare shoulders. He studied Pietro through bleary eyes. "Alright?"

Pietro squinted one eye in confusion. "Yeah, hello. I've been in here for roughly ten agonising minutes."

And there was Johnny's warm chuckle. "I actually meant 'Are you alright?' this time, you dag."

Mildly cursing Australian English, Pietro assured Johnny that he was obviously 100% alright. 

"I mean, you went through heaps last night and if you weren't okay... you can stay here and chat, just bear in mind I might vom all over you."

"That what friends are for," Pietro sang ironically, though he was grateful as ever for Johnny's unrelenting sweetness. "But really, I'm okay. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Johnny pressed. 

"As in, yes, I'm still in shock about the fact that not only is my sister in this town, but that you know her and I could get to see her in a few days. And it's a gargantuan, colossal risk but my god do I ever need a good plan to work out how to see her. On top of that I have to work out how to get Lance back - what to tell him, how to tell him, where to even get a chance to have that conversation and all of it, Johnny, all of it is just a teeny weeny bit of a headfuck if I'm being truly honest."

Johnny moaned, clutching his head as he tried to decipher the speedy torrent of babble Pietro had unwillingly slung at him.

But Pietro was once again pacing, in danger of wearing holes in his socks for the speed he was picking up as he continued to babble out his insecurities.

"Slow down, would you?!" Johnny protested, but his efforts were lost. He moved to get up, then pulled the covers sharply up to his waist. "Fuck's sake, would you pass my undies?"

Pietro stopped in his tracks. Somehow, the simple request calmed him and he picked up a pair of black boxers from the floor, passing them to his friend. He watched Johnny wrestle them under the covers and subsequently put them on.

"You good now, mate?"

He nodded.

"Good. Not that we Aussies are ashamed of nudity, but I don't mind maintaining a little mystique, if you know what I mean."

A beat of silence hung in the air like a fat raindrop, before cogs began to turn in Pietro's mind. A bright light of recognition filled his blue eyes and his lips parted, forming silent words as a brilliant plan began to hatch in his mind.

"Mystique!", he cried, seizing Johnny's cheeks and kissing him madly on the forehead in a manic show of gratitude. "Mystique! Yes, that's it. Oh, you beautiful bastard!"

Before he could respond, Pietro released the shocked Australian and made for the doorway, rapid-fire muttering out ideas. 

"You've got a plan then?" Johnny observed, trying to suppress his smile at how ridiculously like a mad scientist Pietro became when he was plotting.

"A plan!" Pietro scoffed, waving the very idea away like an annoying mosquito. "This is no mere plan. What I've concocted, Johnno, is going to get everybody what they want. Even you," he added with a fond smirk.

But he wasn't going to divulge his master-plan to a dehydrated Australian in at least two day old underwear. Without another word, Pietro disappeared in a flash to bring all the components of his plan together.

Anticipating a storm, Johnny sighed and retreated back under his pillow.

.........................................................................

Pietro was speed-mopping when Johnny emerged from the shower block. The air smelt of pine, somehow sharpened by the high quantity of metal in the room and seemed clinical as an operating theatre.

He stopped in his tracks just as Johnny was about to sit down. Brandishing the mop at him like a spear, Pietro made an "Uh uh!" noise that you'd usually direct at a dog.

"Are you going to enlighten me as to why you've turned into Mrs Mop?" Johnny enquired, hands in pockets with an amused quirk to his lip.

"Because, StJohn, we have visitors."

Johnny's amused mouth now dropped open. "Are you nuts? Your dad will definitely kill us if he gets word of this. Which he will - he's got spies, you know."

"Yeah, me."

"No, not just you. That blue lady -"

" - will be here in a minute," Pietro interrupted with a disturbingly calm smile. Seeing the mask of horror on his friend's face, his weird serenity only increased. "Don't worry Jon-Jon, all will be revealed."

Curious, Johnny raised an eyebrow. "You Machiavellian bugger..." 

Returning to super-speed, Pietro finished mopping, wrung out the mop, emptied the water from the bucket and put both of them away in the blink of an eye. He had also adjusted his hair and changed his shirt to a sleek black one, returning to normality to check his reflection with a satisfied nod.

It seemed he had acquired another black shirt, which he threw at Johnny who caught it quizically. 

"Uniformity," Pietro nodded sagely. "We want to look like we mean business. Just follow my lead, okay? Don't worry about doing the loony stuff."

"Noted," Johnny replied, pulling his own shirt over his head. Once again, Pietro paid no attention to his wide shoulders and all that strong muscle, nor the scattering of moles across his collarbone or the tuft of auburn hair descending down from his navel. Now wearing the shirt, Johnny gave a sarcastic imitation of a pageant twirl. "Well, do I look like I mean business?"

"And then some," Pietro purred. Then, in a desperate attempt to turn off his flirtation filter, he laughed and added: "I mean, anything beats that orange spandex creation you call a battlewear."

"As opposed to your silver sparkles, ballerina?" 

But before Pietro could return a particularly sharp jibe, the doorbell rang with an ominous ding. 

"Follow my lead, Skippy. We got this," Pietro said, the aura of calm not quite so profound as he fumbled with the door's latch. 

Johnny brought his lighter out of his pocket, standing ready to unleash fiery hell as the door was opened to reveal the blue lady in question. She was in her battle gear, as were the three boys behind her who had all adopted their own take on a menacing stance. Lance, with his feet shoulder width apart and his fists clenched, ready to shake the place apart if needed. Todd, crouched on his strong legs anticipating a need to jump. And Fred, the Blob, didn't need to stand any particular way to look enormously threatening. He just was.

"Why have you brought us here?" Mystique demanded, her yellow eyes flashing as she spoke. Though she was a lady, Johnny and Pietro knew never to mess with her - she had stronger muscles than both of them combined.

Pietro ushered them in, and Johnny noticed that Lance's eyes never left his former teammate, distrustful and yet so sad. Ah, the romantic hero...

"My father are other teammates are not here," Pietro announced. "We don't want to fight you. We want you to help us. We want you to help us," he paused for a second, a flicker of hesitancy replaced in a blink with determination, "take Magneto down."

There was a moment of silence as everybody digested this idea, then Lance spoke first.

"What a crock of -"

Mystique interrupted him, seating herself majestically in one of the sleek dining chairs. "Explain yourself, Maximoff. You can see that we all have excellent reason not to trust you. Same goes for whoever your little friend is," she added, giving Johnny an unnecessarily catty glare.

"I understand your lack of faith in me," Pietro began. Johnny suddenly placed the cool composure with which he spoke - Pietro was channeling Magneto. And it was, he admitted, magnetic. Now everybody's eyes were locked on Maximoff, and they seemed to breathe for his next words.

"I deceived and betrayed the Brotherhood in the worst way possible by leaving to join my father. You would naturally come to the conclusion that I'd do anything for him and kill anybody who stands in his way, and I know you're thinking that all this now is another one of his plans. That every word I say is a lie. And you know what? You'd be totally justified in thinking that."

Lance audibly growled and went to glower in a corner. 

"Magneto is a liar," Pietro continued, looking into every face bar Lance's, who had deliberately turned away. "He's a liar and a coward who uses other mutants like pawns. Part of the reason I came here was so he couldn't corrupt anyone else, like my friends," he appealed to Todd and Fred, who, despite their gravitas, could not help but look slightly touched. "Magneto destroys people. Take Pyro here."

Johnny swallowed as all eyes suddenly rested on him. 

"He has to pretend to be insane to keep Magneto and his lackeys off his back."

Well, there was that cat out of the bag.

Mystique arched an eyebrow. "Pretend, you say? This is the mutant who nearly burned down my home trying to recruit my team. And his weapon of choice? A fiery replica of a giant squid! My boys say he's bordering on psychotic."

"Totally gaga," confirmed Todd.

Pietro caught Johnny's eye, who looked at once delighted and horrified that the pretence was up. 

"Look, I thought so too," Pietro said. "But he really is just a good actor."

"Another fake like you," Lance muttered murderously.

Mystique, however, tilted her head and looked rather intently at Johnny. "Is this true, Pyro?"

Pietro nodded to Johnny to speak up.

"It is," Johnny confirmed. "When I got recruited, I realised very quickly that Magneto and the other guys would kill me if I didnt have some kind of edge. See, my ability with fire is a valuable resource and, whilst doing the whole mad act is good for keeping everybody away, it also ended up being useful for Magneto."

Intrigued, Mystique shifted in her seat. "Go on."

Johnny looked to Pietro, who gestured for him to continue. "Magneto needed somebody to go to the asylum to visit a... a person of interest. He could use my apparent mental illness to allow me to visit this person. He knew I wouldn't tell anybody who... they were."

Now he looked to Pietro helplessly, who thankfully took the reins (though surprisingly shakily given his previous composure).

"I have to tell you who this person is," Pietro said. "I should have been honest from the start but I hope maybe you'll understand. I have... I have a... I have... I have..." 

'You've got this,' Johnny mouthed to him in silent support. This did not go unnoticed by Lance, who rolled his eyes and turned away again.

Taking a deep breath, Pietro allowed the words to finally tumble out before the three boys who had once been his brothers. 

"I have a sister. A twin sister." 

Lance, Todd and Fred all showed different signs of surprise. Todd let out a startled "Whaaaaat?!" while Fred glanced around his teammates, mouth open. Lance stopped glaring and moved to sit down next to Mystique, who looked like she found the prospect of a secret twin quite delicious.

"And, as you know, our father is Magneto," Pietro continued. "My sister is someone we never, ever talk about. If word ever got out about her, my father's reputation would be destroyed. You know how he acts like he's some kind of mutant Jesus? Hard to believe when he put his ten year old mutant daughter in an asylum."

Both Johnny and Lance seemed to pick up that Pietro was becoming emotional, but he couldn't meet their eyes in case he broke down and ruined what was possibly his best plan yet.

"Her powers were - are - dangerous. Worse than any of us. And for a kid, that was a lot. She got frustrated and scared and the more scared she was, the more dangerous she was. Magneto couldn't deal with it. One day, he said he was going to take us on holiday so Wanda - that's her name, Wanda - so Wanda could relax. I really thought things were going to work out. Only... he didn't take us on holiday. We got out of the car, and these men in scrubs came and took her away. I never saw her again. He said we had to be thankful she was safe, but we needed to forget her. And the afternoon he locked her away, he also put me in care."

Lance brought his fist down on the metal table and swore. 

"And this is why you want to destroy him, Quicksilver?" Mystique asked coolly, appearing to be completely unaffected.

Pietro glanced at his four friends, who, unlike Mystique looked horrified on his behalf to hear what his father had done. And Lance had a drug baron for a dad, so that was saying something.

"Magneto has to be stopped," he confirmed with a resilient nod. "Otherwise I'll be living in fear and doing his dirty work until my inevitable death. It doesn't matter about family or blood. He's not my father and I'm not his son."

Mystique leaned forward. "I believe you," she said regally, yellow eyes scanning her boys who nodded too. "But we must understand how we fit into this scheme of yours."

Pietro took a breath and adopted a posture so like his father's, he could have started levitating and nobody would bat an eyelid. Now that the hard bit was out of the way and he had his old friends on his side, he was steeled back into confidence (to use a metal pun). 

"Mystique, you will follow Pyro here on Tuesday afternoon. You've been trailing him for a long time as you need a new destructive power for the Brotherhood. You'll find him visiting the asylum and, intrigued, you follow. You find him talking to Wanda, where you learn she's a mutant powerhouse. You read her file and discover who she is. You decide you need her on your team so you use your powers to get her out of the asylum, recruiting her for the Brotherhood."

Todd let out a startled cough. "We gotta have some crazy feral girl livin' in our house?!"

"You have no idea how powerful she is," Pietro lowered his voice, looking right into Mystique's eyes. "She can turn off your powers, blow stuff up, make objects come to life... It's like magic. With her on your team, you'll never lose again."

Fred looked delighted, nudging Todd so hard he fell off his chair.

"I understand your wishes to liberate your sister. But we'll be vulnerable to Magneto," Mystique replied.

"You underestimate what a coward he is," Pietro said. "And Wanda will be angry and confused, and she'll want revenge. Is that right, John - er, Pyro?"

Johnny noted Lance's side-eye, something like jealousy. "Totally," he agreed. "The reason Magneto had to stop visiting is because she'd get so angry when she saw him and tell him she wanted to kill him."

"Best case scenario," Pietro interjected. "He backs the hell off the Brotherhood because he knows she's there. Or she kills him. And anyone he sends after her is toast, by the way."

Mystique gave him a long look, a flicker of interest now in her eyes.

"I know it seems risky, but I have total faith in this plan," Pietro said firmly, looking from face to face. "What do you get out of it? A ruthless superpower on your team.".

Sensing some reluctance from Lance, Johnny chimed in. "She's also a cool person. She's funny and loves to draw. Let her on your team, make friends with her and she'll defend you for life. Really, she's cool."

Unable to stop himself, Todd asked the burning question: "Is she hot?" He yelped, suggesting that Lance had given him a swift kick under the table.

Choosing to ignore such ridiculous adolescence, Mystique gave Pietro a slow nod of approval. 

"I am intrigued about whether she would make a valuable recruit. I shall make up my mind for myself when I see her at the asylum."

That was as good as a yes for Pietro. Lance didn't miss how he grinned- full on beamed - straight at Johnny, who looked equally happy. 

After arranging a few details with Pietro and Johnny, Mystique made her excuses and left, having no intention of being in the odour of five young men any longer than absolutely necessary. She left a strange air in the room that was not Todd's unique aroma, but something on the edges of resolution and hope.

Of course, as soon as she left, Pietro muttered something about getting some air and Lance naturally followed. This left Johnny in the presence of Todd and Fred, who he had automatically written off when scoping out valuable recruits for Magneto: Fred, too stupid and Todd, too annoying. Now, however, they were growing on him.

True to form, Todd persisted. "Okay, but is she hot, yo?"

Johnny shook his head, chuckling. "Imagine Petey in drag and you're close."

"That's easy," murmured Fred. "We saw him in drag pretty much every Halloween. He did look kinda hot," he shrugged in a blissfully matter-of-fact way.

Todd leaned back in his chair, sludge coloured eyes fixed on Johnny. "And what's your deal, man? You're 'Tro's BFF now, you wanna join us too?"

"You're having a laugh," ribbed Johnny, eyes sparkling. "Your house makes the garbage tip want to try harder."

Fred bristled, squaring up to Johnny. Todd hopped on to his friend's shoulder, eye to eye with the fire mutant. "You better watch your mouth, yo. We live how we live and we ain't changin' for nobody."

"Hey, I'm just playing," Johnny placated. "And no hard feelings, yeah? We've all got to get along for Wanda... You boys know anything about cricket?"

"They're crunchy," Todd replied straight away. "And you gotta bite off the legs first or they -"

"It's a game," interrupted Johnny, whose hungover stomach was protesting horribly at vivid images of Todd eating crickets. "Nice day to have a run about with a ball, have a chat, eat snacks, make friends..."

"Well, I guess Quickie and Lance are gonna be a while," Todd shrugged to Fred, who was had at the word 'snacks'. 

.........................................................................

When Pietro headed onto the immaculate lawn behind the metal bunker, he knew without having to turn around that Lance had followed him. It was everything he'd hoped for, and yet he felt weirdly unsettled by it now.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Lance finally said, lighting up a cigarette.

"And hello to you too," sneered Pietro.

Refusing to let it go, Lance stood in front of Pietro, searing eyes demanding him to look. "Why? I thought we were friends."

"Oh, is that what we were?" Pietro replied, letting himself look into those brown eyes just long enough not to fall in. 

"I would've understood. I wouldn't have had to hate your fucking guts for leaving."

"Well, since you hate me, why don't you just go?" Pietro noticed that his already fast heart was pounding and pulling towards Lance. 

"Because," Lance's voice dropped and he inhaled deeply on his smoke. "It's you. And I care about you. You know I do -"

"- forever," Pietro finished off the sentence, gazing wide-eyed at Lance. This was better than the reunion he imagined, but somehow also worse. It was only adding more intensity to a day that had been far, far too intense already.

"Look, now you know my deep dark secret and we have a plan to get Magneto out of our lives forever, can't we just forget all this and stop holding grudges?"

Lance hummed and scuffed his boot along the ground, unsure. Pietro tried again.

"I forgave you pretty quickly after you came back from joining X Geeks," he said with a hint of a smirk.

This smirk seemed to lighten Lance, who turned to Pietro with the tiniest smile. "You refused to blow me for a month."

"Would have been longer if you weren't so -" 'Hot', Pietro added mentally, aware he was now drinking in the sight of Lance's tall and sinewy body like he'd been dehydrated for a long time. No! He needed to focus on getting this reunion right.

"I was so fucking mad at you for leaving," Pietro said, sitting down on a low step. He felt Lance join him - now mere inches away from him, something crackled between them. "Like you'd chosen another life over us, like you didn't care about us. Or me. Is that what you feel?"

Lance put out his cigarette. "Yeah," he admitted. "And worse, because you chose your bastard father over us. Over me. Now I know what he did to you and your sister, it hurts even more. But I get it. You had to do what he said. I get it, but it still rips my fucking heart out and looking at you now... I want to forgive you but I feel sick."

Pietro looked Lance, wanting so badly to grab him and hold him but simulataneously feeling the exact same sickness. 

"And you've moved on with that British guy."

"Australian," Pietro corrected automatically. "And that isn't true, we're just mates - ah - friends. He's been a really good friend to me."

"We were best friends," Lance brooded, sun catching his sharp cheekbones.

Pietro turned to him, holding his hands up as if Lance might shoot him. "Then can't we be best friends again? Don't be jealous of Johnny; it could never be like you and me. What we had - have? - I just need that, man. I miss you."

A shaky sigh escaped Lance. He had nothing to say, so simply he held his arm out and Pietro fell against his chest instantly. Lance wrapped that arm around Pietro who grabbed the calloused hand dangling at his shoulder and held it like a lifeline. 

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I'm sorry too."

"... I know."

......................................................................

Eventually, the Brotherhood boys left. As soon as Pietro had closed the door, he threw himself on to the couch with a very satisfied grin on his face. Johnny sat in the armchair next to him, unable to stop himself from smiling too.

"Bravo, Speedo. What a plan!"

"I excelled myself, didn't I? And you, my fiery friend? Best right hand man I could ask for."

"Looks like you won't need to be using your right hand for much longer," Johnny quipped, corners of his mouth twitching knowingly. 

"Lance? Oh, we've got a long way to go. We're friends again but that's -"

At this point, Pietro was interrupted by his phone buzzing. Both boys had a habit of jumping when this happened, expecting it to a terrible summons from Magneto. 

However, it was far from that.

"What is it?" Johnny asked, though he could see a red blush forming on Pietro's cheeks and his friend's eyes darting distractedly over the message.

"Oh, nothing important..."

"He sexted you!" Johnny blared triumphantly. "Am I wrong? Lancey-boy sent you a good old dirty sext."

He looked so genuinely happy about it that Pietro shrugged as if to say 'Ya got me there, pal!' 

"Everything's coming up Pietro!" The boy in question trilled, throwing his arms wide and laughing up at the ceiling. In one day he'd managed to make real the prospect of having his sister, his friends and his whatever-Lance-was back. Everything was as it was supposed to be, only better because of the rather tasty message Lance had just sent him...

And it was somehow wonderful that Johnny was there with him now, as if they'd been friends forever. "Bring it in, Skip," he said, holding his arms out as he stood up. 

In his easy, unashamed way, Johnny hugged him fiercely, rubbing his back with his big hands. 

"Thank you," Pietro said over his shoulder, smelling soap and firewood.

"God, don't. It was nothing, mate. I should be thanking you for outing me as sane. Well... mostly sane."

"You do give good crazy," Pietro grinned. He realised that Johnny's embrace was different to Lance's - it felt easier, as if it wasn't laced with the constant tension and questions that happened whenever he was near Lance. However, that was surely just because he was hugging a friend and not a something-else. So why, then, he did feel his arms empty when Johnny patted him and released him?

"Looked like you had fun with Todd and Freddy," Pietro observed. He and Lance had watched Johnny trying to teach the two extremely unathletic boys to play cricket. Lance, he noticed, looked twitchy and watched Pietro's eyes closely to see if he was checking out that fine Australian form in those fine white trousers. So Pietro, of course, didn't.

"They're a riot," Johnny smiled. "Fred's got the making of a good bowler. And Todd's got bloody good banter."

It just got better. Johnny liked his sister, Johnny liked his friends and Johnny had his back. If Pietro closed his eyes, he could see a life in the not-so-distant future where he was back in that old boarding house. He was sitting on that saggy old couch next to his sister while Todd and Fred laughed at some obscene story of Johnny's. And Lance was sitting in that ancient overstuffed armchair watching his unofficial family with a look of utter contentment. (He was also shirtless, but this was Pietro's fantasy after all.)

"Want something juicy to reply to that text?" Johnny was saying, looking thoroughly amused by the entire thing. "I am the king of erotica, after all."

Pietro's insides simmered at this suggestion as images of strong rugby player's thighs and freckled shoulders suddenly filled his head. He ignored them, replacing those images with long tan legs and dark hair swishing over his own shoulders...

"Whoa there, firestarter," he said with that trademark smirk. "I don't need any help when it comes to the art of being a dirty little bitch."

"Mmm," purred Johnny, almost certainly deliberately. He pulled out his little book and started scribbling.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, just writing a porno about you and Alvers. Something-something-silver hair slicked with sweat..."

Pietro balled up some discarded foil from one of Fred's inevitable snacks and threw it with impeccable aim into the centre of Johnny's forehead. "Fuck off."

"Off you go, hornbag!" Johnny twinkled, laughing deeply when Pietro snatched up his phone, turning redder by the second and disappearing into his bedroom.


	4. Steak or Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some good news leads to a celebration.

It was extremely difficult to sneak in when the front door was a heavy, multi-bolted chunk of steel. 

Nevertheless, Pietro tried, using his speed to close it so quickly and gently that Johnny might never have noticed. He crept to the kitchen, thirsty and panting from his run, using his t-shirt to dab the sweat running into his eyes.

"Ah, hello!" A mirthful voice cried.

Pietro lifted the material from his eyes and smiled sheepishly at Johnny. Busted.

"The prodigal son returns..."

Though he'd been hoping Johnny would be in bed, Pietro had forgotten that the would-be writer always seemed to find his muse at 5am, where he would sit at the imposing metal table and scribble furiously for a few uninterrupted hours.

"Somebody put the dirty in dirty stop-out," Johnny sang teasingly, waggling his flame patterned pen at Pietro.

Pietro decided it was stupid to feel embarrassed about sex in front of a guy who wrote glorified porn for a living. "Lance and I had a lot of... making up to do," he purred suggestively. "Why don't you make all your housewives wet with that story?"

"You rotten bastard."

"Oh, you're only jealous."

Johnny snapped his notebook shut, the slightest frown scrunching his adorably freckled nose. Wait, adorable?! Pietro dismissed that immediately.

"Bloody right I'm jealous. Only sex I have is vicarious."

"That how you writers get off? You go and vicarious yourself?"

"Mate, I've vicarious-ed myself so much I think my cock might fall off."

The two boys laughed smuttily, Pietro's eyes drawn like a dirty magnet towards Johnny's crotch. 

"Fuck, I forgot!" Johnny sprang up. "Your dad called. Don't worry, it's good," he said, seeing the immediate tension of Pietro's jaw.

"It's good? What, they've decided to start a hippy commune in San Fran or something?"

Johnny chuckled. "Whatever they're doing sounds more serious than getting high and marrying each other. Sabre's been captured. They're going to be out for at least another month. At least, he said."

This was almost too good to be true. "Shut up! Really?" 

A nod confirmed it.

Pietro all but began to bounce with excitement. "But this is amazing!"

So much time, so much freedom lay ahead of him. Time to work things out with Lance, time to hang out with the Brotherhood, time to reunite with Wanda and give her a happy new life away from the horrible oppression of Magneto. These were all big things, wonderful things, but he also looked forward to Johnny's terrible singing drifting from the shower, to drinking beer and stupid stories, to cricket and pizza and crude didgeridoo impressions... An idea suddenly gripped Pietro.

"You know what, Hot Stuff? We need to celebrate tonight." Pietro strutted up to Johnny with a wide, devilish smirk on his lips.

"Hot Stuff?", smiled Johnny. "I'll take that. What are we doing, Speedo?"

"We're going out!" Pietro announced theatrically. Had he had glitter on his person, he would have scattered it into the air with a flourish. "And with a bit of luck, Sindy J, you may just get laid..."

A beat hung between them where both looked at the other for a little too long.

"Er, not by me, obviously. Heh heh!" Pietro stuttered, wishing to disappear into his shirt once more.

"Whoa there, Casanova!" Johnny chuckled. He tapped his pen thoughtfully, remembering something. "Actually, there was one more thing your old man said."

Johnny cleared his throat and adopted an exaggerated persona of Magneto. "I am aware that Quicksilver will be missing valuable time during his senior school year. To this end, I have written to the Principal stating that he is most unwell but he is able to complete school work from home. I understand Quicksilver wishes to graduate, so I will regularly call the principal to check his work has been completed to a high standard. Also," Johnny added, still in character, "I have misplaced a large metal rod and believe it may be stuck firmly up my arse."

Pietro pulled a face at Johnny's latter comment. Though he didn't mind the homework - he could easily do an entire year's worth of schoolwork in a day.

"Homework, huh? Well... If you're really lucky, I'll let you do my Physics homework."

"I'm better at Chemistry," Johnny shot back with a meaningful wink.

And though he had stopped running minutes ago, Pietro felt sweat begin to prickle again. He was going to have to put a lot more energy into Lance to kill whatever this was. Which clearly was nothing. Of course.

He muttered something about going to bed. Sleep would be a welcome distraction - well, maybe after sending something enormously hot to Lance...

.........................................................................

Much later that night, Pietro and Johnny were sitting in a worn out booth in one of Bayville's less classy bars, Fat Rick's. Nobody asked for ID there (which wasn't a problem as Johnny obviously had one already, as did Pietro who was an excellent counterfeiter). Drinks were also very cheap, so the place was essentially full of morally questionable underage drinkers.

"What a fucking hole!" Johnny exclaimed, looking around the tacky walls that had been pasted over and over again with band posters.

"You'll be saying that later," Pietro smirked. "Not to me," he added hastily, drowning his awkwardness in vodka that might have led a double life as paint stripper.

He was trying - really, really trying - not to find Johnny attractive. So he distracted his friend by pointing out various potential partners for Johnny, like he was presenting some sort of sex buffet.

"Her?"

Johnny tilted his head, openly looking a tall and thin brunette up and down.

"Nuh. Too skinny. She'd break a hip trying to straddle me."

Pietro swallowed some more vodka, considering that with a lingering look. "You are blessed with those thighs."

"Did you just... compliment me?"

And another mouthful of vodka. "Well, stroking your ego is part of the wingman/fairy sexmother role. And, much as it pains me to admit it - you look hot."

There was no denying that Johnny scrubbed up well in a form fitting dark blue tee that showed every muscle in his broad chest and black jeans that barely seemed to contain those thighs. He'd allowed Pietro to convince him to ditch the goofy flame hair for something altogether more tousled, and shaved the tuft on his chin closer to reveal a handsome cleft. 

Of course, Pietro was only saying those things to make Johnny feel good about himself. And it clearly worked, because his friend smiled broadly.

"Thanks, Petey. But I'm never gonna get a look in when every single person here is staring at you."

This was part and parcel of having Pietro's striking looks. He wasn't about to be modest about it. 

"Bet old Earthshaker loves it."

"Actually, Lance hates it," Pietro shrugged.

Johnny's animated face made a mask of confusion.. "Is he bloody mad?! There's nothing hotter than knowing everybody wants a piece of your guy, but they've chosen you."

It felt so good to be understood that Pietro slammed his glass down excitedly. "That is exactly what I told him! Man, we're just so... Similar."

The Australian leaned back on the leather seating, mischief sparking in his eyes. "You know, if I or any other romance writer had charge of this story, we'd end up screwing each other instead."

Though he began to feel this might be a dangerous idea after all, Pietro felt a delightful flutter. Not that he was ever going to show it. Like a favourite jacket, he picked up his familiar arrogant contempt.

"That's some weak-ass writing. It needs more drama, more character development, more time for the sexual tension to build for starters."

Johnny seemed to pick up on a change in Pietro's attitude, so he shoved him playfully. Pietro obviously didn't feel any sparks when he did that. "I wasn't suggesting that we actually should, Speedo!"

His grey eyes glanced around the bar, suddenly resting on somebody, pupils practically filling his iris with lusty admiration.

"Who the fuck is that?"

Checking out the full bottomed female in tight jeans, Pietro admired her himself. "I'm sorry to break it to you, firepants, but that's an X Man."

"I don't fucking care, I want her," Johnny murmured. "Who is she?"

"No wonder you're horny for her. She turns to lava."

"Literally so hot," growled Johnny. They watched as the girl was joined by a tall and handsome Brazilian boy. "And him too. Fuck. Don't tell me that's another X Man..."

Now Pietro possibly glowed with naughtiness. "Oh yes, buddy. And you're gonna love this, but he becomes literal sun rays. So all in all, that'd be one hot threesome."

Digging out his wallet, Johnny jerked his head towards them. "Fifty bucks I can do it."

Damn, Pietro loved a challenge. "You seriously think you can menage a trois with those two?"

"They can menage my trois all they like," purred Johnny in a low, seductive voice. 

It did not go unnoticed how devastatingly sensual he was. And Pietro almost wanted this threesome to happen - at least, he knew it would in his imagination.

"Go on, scorcheroo. Put your money where your mouth is," Pietro grabbed one of those big hands and shook it.

And now the Australian was simmering as he slowly walked towards the pair, giving Pietro a lingering, sexy curve of his lip over his shoulder. 

"Fuck's sake, Johnny," Pietro muttered under his breath, downing his friend's drink in one.

.........................................................................

Somehow, Johnny had succeeded and the fire trio were currently doing things Pietro didn't like to think about. Well, that was a lie, he really did like thinking about how Johnny's pale and freckled skin would look against the delicious, coffee coloured skin of the other two. And he enjoyed picturing the curves of her body against those two very masculine frames, skin blending into skin blending into skin... The image Johnny's big thighs wrapped around either of the two was almost too much and Pietro actually groaned from the solitude of his bedroom.

Lance had not sexted, or even texted back. It was what he did. Pietro had forgotten how infuriating this was - how it made him simultaneously want to dump that skinny Alvers ass and do something, anything to make Lance want him all at once.

So Pietro was sitting on his hands trying not to message Lance anything else and getting increasingly frustrated that his friend was in there having sex - three way sex at that. Fuck's sake, Johnny.

Pietro was simply not used to being the one not getting laid. It was almost as if last night didn't count - the aggressive, wild, thrashing with Lance had filled a hole (no pun intended). But it always felt like it wasn't enough. Actually, it felt like he wasn't enough. And with Lance back to his old ways of tactical ignoring, he had him right where he wanted him.

Was nothing ever easy?!

There was no way Pietro was going to stare at his phone all evening, so he stuffed it into his pillowcase. He retrieved a piece of crisp lined paper from the small metal desk and began writing furiously, distracting himself with school work.

Yep, he was really doing algebra right now. Johnny fucking Firepants was going to pay dearly for this.

.........................................................................

When Johnny finally emerged the next morning, Pietro was waiting for him eagerly at the table with the biggest smirk he could muster.

"Morning, tiger," he said, sliding fifty bucks across the table knowingly. Johnny pocketed it with a distinctly impish grin. "I did not think you had it in you."

"Oh, they both did," growled Johnny lustily. 

"Smutty," Pietro wagged a finger at him. "Who knew X Geeks could be such horny little bitches?"

"Er, you?"

Pietro feigned coyness. "I've actually only tapped -" (He got his fingers out to count) "- ohhh, say five of them."

"So I can catch up yet," grinned Johnny. He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, grey eyes wandering. "A threesome, wow... I cannot believe I bloody did that. I had the balls to just walk right up to them and ask for it."

"Didn't look like it took much convincing," Pietro replied with a degree of disdain he couldn't quite disguise. "So, what is this, are you a - a throuple now?"

Johnny sat down next to his friend, smelling, as ever, faintly of firewood. "A throuple? Christ, no. That last night - that was ice cream."

"Ice cream," Pietro observed, flicking the side of Johnny's head at the absurdity of such a statement. "No, you're going to have to explain that one, Shakespeare."

There was still a sense of sated lust lingering on Johnny as he gave Pietro a long, pensive gaze. "Alright. Ice cream. It's like you really fancy it at the time and it's fucking delicious, but it doesn't fill you up. Not like that, you big pervo," Johnny added, reaching out to mess up his friend's hair. 

Pietro was surprised to find he didn't hate this - so much so that he let his hair stay in a static crest while Johnny continued to explain his theory.

"There are two kinds of sex, you see. Ice cream sex is the one which feels amazing, blows your mind, but doesn't ultimately satisfy."

"I've eaten a lot of ice cream," Pietro deadpanned. "So, John-boy, what is the other type of sex?"

Johnny let a slow smile warm his whole face. "That, my friend, is steak sex."

Pietro squawked. "Steak! Fuck's sake Johnny, you are so Australian."

"And bloody proud, mate. Right. Steak. You know what a really good steak is like, yeah? So fucking tender and satisfying and it... it nourishes you."

Interestingly, Johnny's voice had softened as he described this and Pietro felt the gentleness of his description.

"You can't just have steak sex with anybody. You need a connection; you have to care about them. You have to trust them and be vulnerable to them and lay everything aside just to be with them - on them, in them. And it feels beautiful to have somebody give all that warmth and... erm... love to you through sex."

He had grown so wistful and soft that his eyes now glowed like a dying fire. Pietro was falling into them, feeling the centre of his chest tug towards Johnny's in an entirely unmanageable way. It was getting increasingly difficult to break eye contact - his heart was pounding and he was sure his eyes were dilating just like Johnny's. Damn. Fuck's sake, Johnny.

'Pull yourself together, Speedy,' Pietro said, mentally slapping himself.

"Well, those two foods are officially ruined for me," he quipped, rising from his chair with a graceful stretch and an arrogant smirk.

With extremely ironic timing, his phone buzzed: Lance. And the sext that he sent was pure ice cream.


	5. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plans for an asylum breakout are put in place.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lance asked, broom in hand as he watched Pietro simultaneously scrubbing lewd graffiti off the walls of the Brotherhood house and filling in the cracks with putty.

"No," Pietro admitted before he could catch himself. He straightened it out with swagger. "It's a fucking great idea."

It was Tuesday. Mystique had given her full approval to commence Operation Wanda. Pietro couldn't believe that in just a few hours, he could be reunited with his sister. He wasn't expecting it to be harmonious. Of course, he'd pictured it - running into her arms and squeezing all the hurt out of her, how she'd smile and thank him for rescuing her and everything would be perfect forever. It was definitely more likely that she'd be a ball of homicidal rage and not want to talk to him for a long, long time.

"It's just, she could actually kill us, yo," Todd said. He had taken it upon himself to take a rare bath and was currently cutting his revolting green toenails.

That was a very real possibility, though Mystique had located an old lady who believed she could pacify Wanda and teach her how to control those colossal powers. Years too late, Pietro reflected bitterly. Why hadn't their father tried harder to help her?

"Chill, Toddles. The old witch will stop her murdering anybody, bar Magneto."

Though Pietro tried to emanate suavity and calm, he was anxious about a million and one things inside. He told himself over and over how the plan would go - how Mystique would pull her out into daylight and give her clean clothes, how Johnny would be in the car to calm her down and the old lady would be there to do her healing thing. Mystique would tell her she'd have her freedom and be able to live among other young mutants who'd be her friends. Johnny would explain to her that Pietro, her twin brother, had organised this and he wanted to make things better. It would be okay. Maybe not today, but it would be okay.

As if he was reading Pietro's mind, Fred murmured "It'll be okay". He was covered in flour and icing sugar from his efforts to bake a cake, which, despite Pietro's icy exterior, touched his heart in ways he could never show.

Hooking the broom handle into Pietro's elbow, Lance ushered him to one side. His brown eyes had that chocolatey warmth of concern which confused and mesmerised Pietro so much. 

"Are you gonna be able to handle this, P?"

"Aww, you do care!" Pietro smirked.

"Shut up and be real a second. Your long-lost fuckin' sister is coming out of an asylum today. She'll probably hate you. It's gonna be a lot for you, you know?"

Pietro bit his lip, eyes darting around the place. He wanted to ask Lance for a hug, but Lance didn't like needy. Lance attacked a problem with practicality.

"It isn't going to be easy," Pietro agreed. "But what else can I do? Leave her to rot in a cell when she shouldn't have been there in the first place?"

He put a hand on Lance's arm, which bolted immediate sparks between them. "You're good, Lance. You can make her feel safe and part of something. And seeing her free... Even if she doesn't want me in her life, it's enough for me to know that she's okay."

Lance nodded and gave a half smile. He always looked wolfish when he smiled due to that impossibly chiselled face and amber glint in his eyes. "So, you're not all me, me, me."

"Don't tell everyone. I have a reputation to uphold."

"Whatever," Lance replied, making off to do more sweeping.

"Hey, Lance?" Pietro called to his retreating back.

Lance turned around, giving him another of those warm looks.

"Thank you," Pietro said sincerely.

In a few more super-speed dashes, the house was about as presentable as it could be given its age and the fact that its current tenants were rebellious and angry teenage boys.

There was still time to fill, and Pietro was damned if he was going to sit there twiddling his thumbs, with three extra pairs of thumbs making him even more nervous.

"I cleared the yard," he announced to the boys who had never really stopped being his brothers. "Can anyone say Toddball?"

This was met with whoops and cheers; even Lance looked excited. As if all four of them were speed demons, they rapidly assembled in the yard with a bizarre array of balls and Todd wearing a wastepaper basket strapped to his head. Despite Pietro's attempts to create complex rules, Toddball was essentially a wild free-for-all with a moving Todd shaped goal.

It was as ridiculous as it sounded: Fred wiggling his gigantic backside and preparing to bat a tennis ball into Todd's basket as Todd twirled and pirrhouetted across the lawn; Lance, creeping in the bushes sniper style armed with a soccer ball and Pietro firing a barrage of balls, any balls in Todd's general direction. They laughed wide, goofy laughs, every inch the children they weren't allowed to be. Toddball was their greatest tool for bonding, for healing breakups or lost battles or parental let-downs.

At one o'clock, they lay panting on the freshly mown grass. Todd turned his head, still basketed, towards Pietro.

"We missed you, bro."

Pietro stretched like a cat. "Yeah, I missed your crazy asses too." One more than others, he noted, drinking in the sight of Lance lying on his stomach.

"Do you think a chick joining us is going to change everything?" Fred murmured, absent-mindedly rolling a ball into Todd's basket.

Lance propped himself up on an elbow. "Dumbass, we had two chicks on the team before."

"Tabby was fun," Pietro mused wistfully. "But Freddie has a point, things will be different. You won't be losers anymore, for a start."

"We heard enough about her awesome powers. Will she slay us at Toddball though?" Lance grinned. He occasionally got this smile when he looked at his team, like that of a proud parent.

It was difficult to imagine Wanda, who had survived intolerable cruelty and abandonment, letting loose and playing ball like any other dorky teen. But picturing her as she was, black hair in scruffy pigtails and scuffed knees, made Pietro's heart ache. 

"She's got one hell of an aim," Pietro reflected. He never really allowed himself to remember their games, but now that he did he recalled that she could hit any target, from any angle. 

"That's good, yo - at least one Maximoff's gonna be good at Toddball."

Although there was an insult there, Pietro felt a flutter of pride that Todd was acknowledging his connection to Wanda. His sister, his twin.

"Ain't that the truth. You suck at Toddball, P," Lance teased, Fred chuckling in agreement.

Pietro could have been offended, and maybe once he would have been, but what was happening right now was one of those perfect moments. He thought he'd lost his friends forever and yet here they were, as if nothing had changed.

Regardless, things would change very soon. And knowing that made him want to hug the life out of each one of those boys so they could remember this, exactly this.

.........................................................................

It was now three o' clock, and Pietro nearly threw his phone across the room when it finally buzzed. With shaky hands and pounding heart, he read the message.

"She's out. We're coming x", Johnny had texted. Pietro didn't notice the kiss, but Lance did.

Now Pietro didn't know where to place himself. He rushed, he twitched, he jiggled his leg until it vibrated into a silvery blur. Finally, Lance stilled him, grabbing his forearms.

"Be strong, man. She's gotta see that you're strong."

It was impossible to know how much time passed, but it felt like forever.

Finally, a knock on the door made Pietro nearly throw up. He opened it, trembling, but it was only Johnny.

Without a word, Johnny's warm arms wrapped Pietro in a brief embrace. "You can do this, Petey."

Then Johnny disappeared to a discreet black car with tinted windows. Mystique came out first, nodding in her regal manner to the boys. After her, an old lady who certainly did look like a witch, draped in scarves. And finally, a white slip on plimsoll followed by a slender, nervous looking girl hidden under clouds of wild black hair.

As if he still had an umbilical cord, Pietro's navel tugged towards her. He wanted to run towards her and run away at the same time.

The old lady had a gnarled hand around Wanda's shoulders and was muttering in soothing tones. A spell?

Mystique crossed into the house and, once more, nodded to Lance. "Your new team-mate. She is, believe me, exceptional."

Lance half-extended a hand as the girl approached, then drew it away just as quickly. She was staring at her feet, perhaps not entirely awake.

Should he look? Not look? Pietro was now rooted to the spot, paralysed as if he was bewitched too.

"Hello Wanda," Lance tried in much friendlier tones than he normally used. "I'm Lance. You're free now and we'll take care of you."

This was a phrase Lance had rehearsed many times. At the sound of his voice, her eyes darted upwards, seeking him out. She moved in an almost birdlike way, startled by everyone and everything.

"Didn't I promise they'd help you?" Johnny soothed. It was then Pietro noticed that he was holding her hand - he knew how safe those big freckled hands felt, and he was grateful.

"Y-yes," Wanda replied. Her voice was raspier than the clear, confident voice Pietro remembered. 

Lance nudged Todd. "Er, I'm Todd," the toad boy replied with a hesitant smile. "And this here's Freddy. He looks scary but he's kind."

"Kind," Wanda parroted. She fidgeted the toe of one plimsoll into the carpet, not looking up. "My brother is here," she said as if stating a fact.

"Yes," Johnny said simply. 

Because she didn't look, Pietro didn't look. He found himself looking at his own feet, just as she was.

"We are twins," she said, still in that extremely stilted matter of fact way. Almost robotic. 

Lance cocked his head towards Mystique, whispering. "Is she on drugs?"

"She has been in an asylum for years; what do you think?" Mystique hissed back. "We'll detox her safely. But what you see right now is the result of Agatha's calming, disabling influence. Instead of wanting to rightfully lash out at her brother, she's somewhat paralysed."

Johnny smiled patiently at Pietro, then at Wanda with all the confidence of somebody who might have done family reunions before. "Well, do you want to see him, Wanda?"

Wanda gave a brief upward glance. "Can these people go? Just you, me and him."

Mouthing "What the fuck!", Lance shook his head at Johnny. Mystique raised an eyebrow at the old lady, Agatha, who closed her eyes and touched her furrowed forehead for a second.

"Yes, the child means no harm."

"Means no harm!" Lance muttered furiously to Todd. "Since when did crazy people do what they mean?"

Pietro stiffened as the old lady now approached him, laying a hand on his cool forehead, her strange language flowing into him.

"Leave us," he nodded to the others. He had no idea what Agatha had done to him but he felt that umbilical pull and his chest tugged towards Wanda stronger than ever.

"We will not be far away," Mystique said. "Boys, if you would be so kind as to make Agatha some tea?"

Lance was the last to leave, but not before giving Johnny a deeply suspicious and somewhat resentful stare. Then it was just Johnny and two long-lost twins, which he reflected later was incredibly Shakespearean.

"They've gone. Are you ready, Wanda?" 

She jerked her head in something resembling a nod.

"And Pietro, are you ready?"

Another nod. 

Johnny reached out and took Pietro's hand, so he was holding each twin by the hand. Something of a glue, only a soft and non-threatening one.

Wanda stared down at the pale hand which she knew was her brother's. He looked her hand with its bloody, bitten nails.

"Wanda," he finally managed to say, somewhere between a greeting, a sob and a sorry.

Her eyes came off his hand and moved up his arm, onto his torso and finally, finally resting on his face.

"Oh, it is you!", she exclaimed almost childishly.

For once, Pietro wanted time to slow down or even stop entirely so he could just look at and be with his twin. That face, so distant and yet so familiar. He remembered how her eyes, almost identical to his, could cross and roll and almost disappear when she laughed. Her face was chalky as if she hadn't seen the sun in a long time, but he remembered how she glowed in the summer. She was staring at him too as if locking him down with her eyes would keep him there forever.

"I thought you would look just like him," Wanda admitted. "But you don't, you look just like -"

" - me," Pietro finished her sentence. His chest was aching with words he needed to say. "Wanda, listen, I'm -"

"Don't say sorry," she interrupted, eyes darkening. "I am not ready to hear that. But I do need to know... Is this really happening?"

Tears sprang to Pietro's eyes. "It's real," he said softly. "Look."

Very gently, he let go of Johnny's hand and reached out. When she remarkably didn't flinch, he took hold of her other hand and almost dissolved at the touch. Here was a hand he'd held so many times years ago, a hand that fit into his like no other.

"You are real," she stated. Now she let go of Johnny's hand and lay her other hand on top of her brother's cautiously, as if he might disappear. "It is like we are children again," she observed.

With his hands loose, Johnny felt like he was encroaching on something sacred. This reunion ached to watch. As quietly as he could, he crept into the doorway where he was not surprised to find Lance watching, hands in his pockets.

"Did you think it would go so well?" Johnny asked him softly, smiling benevolently at the reunited pair. "It's beautiful, mate."

"I'm not your mate," hissed Lance. He was trying to hide how moved he was by burying it with resentment for the Fire Wonder from Down Under.

"Right," Johnny said, shrugging it off.

Lance faced him, his height advantage allowing him to stare down his nose at Johnny. "You did a good job, so thanks for that. But I think you're done here now."

Johnny folded his arms across his considerably broader chest."Excuse me?"

"Are you dumb? Pietro's our friend. He belongs with us. And Wanda comes with him. Whatever you are, your hand-holding and hugging crap isn't welcome here."

Stunned, Johnny held his hands up in self-defence. "Look, I'm no threat to you, alright?"

Despite his good intentions, this earned him a particularly venomous look from Lance. 

"I was very pro you guys getting back together," Johnny continued.

"Was?" smouldered Lance. 

Johnny couldn't help himself. "Well, now I can see you're a possessive, controlling arsehole."

"I will fucking destroy you the first chance I get," growled Lance, flexing his fists.

"No you won't," replied Johnny, entirely unthreatened. "Now, you can stop being jealous of nothing or you can keep making yourself look like a tit. I'd go with the first one if I was you... Mate."

Lance was trembling, not with fear but with the effort to suppress the giant quake of rage he wanted to unleash.

"Just look at them," Johnny said tenderly, gesturing to the twins who were still holding hands while Pietro spoke in Polish. "How can you be pissed off at anything when you see that?"

Softening just a little, Lance backed off but maintained his intimidating stare. "Just know that I'm watching you, dude. And I don't like what I see."

"Well, that's mutual," Johnny muttered under his breath as Lance retreated into the kitchen.

"Hey, Johnny?"

The twins were standing. 

"I will see my room. I am glad to have a room. Tell them I am glad," Wanda told Johnny. Standing next to Pietro, she was a little taller than her brother and though she looked undernourished and bony, there was strength and regality in her frame. 

Pietro looked at Johnny with soft, wet eyes. "I'll take her," he said, leading by the hand that she still grasped. 'Thank you,' he mouthed over his shoulder. Johnny clasped his hand over his heart in his genuine, unashamedly emotional way.

Wanda was a little shaky as she walked up the stairs, eyes darting from wall to wall and she drunk in her environment. She had been institutionalised for so long that she didn't really know what a home was, except that it had more walls and furniture than she'd seen for a long time.

They stopped at a door with an ornate, polished handle and a lock. Pietro had insisted that Wanda had a lock on her door - a must when living with three delinquent teen boys. He passed her the key, which she took with a small gasp. She was used to being locked in a room, but she had never had a key. Slowly, she unlocked the door and stepped in to her new room as if it was holy ground. 

The room had been Mystique's, then Rogue's, then Tabitha's. It was the best kept room in the house and the boys had cleaned it to perfection. The comfortable antique bed was decked out with clean white sheets, which had a neat trim of one red stripe. Pietro remembered how she had always liked red best when they were children. There was a wardrobe and a small chest of drawers, both polished and buffed to remove any scratches, and a desk at which Pietro imagined Wanda drawing. Lastly, he had placed a vase of sunflowers on the desk. He had a foggy memory of them playing in a field of sunflowers long ago - maybe she remembered it too. 

"There are some clothes left over from other girls who lived here," Pietro said, realising how his sister had nothing but the a plain almost scrub-like tunic and slacks.

"The girls left," Wanda replied from the window, where she was marvelling at the lack of bars. "Why?"

"They went to join our rival team. They have a better deal there - a big mansion, a chef, training rooms... But they're not free like us."

Wanda turned to face her brother with a very frank look. "And are you free, twin?"

He knew exactly what she asked. There was still probably enough of a charm on her to answer honestly, but he was scared to ruin the beautiful bond they were restoring by acknowledging the man who had broken it.

"I hope to be," he said softly. "Will you help?"

Her lips parted slightly in surprise. "You ask me for help?"

"Yes," Pietro admitted, now he was finally able to say. "I always needed you."

The reversal seemed to strengthen Wanda. She saw her brother for the lost and broken boy he was and despite her own pain, she wanted to shield him. She sat on the bed and reached for him, letting him practically fall on to her chest. 

"If I'd known where he was taking you, I'd have run away with you," Pietro sobbed fiercely. "We should have run away."

"I often imagined that," Wanda said, playing with his hair. She had wanted to touch it for such a long time. Spun silver. "I always hoped you would save me."

"Didn't you hate me?"

"Oh yes. For a long, long time. Then I forgot you. Or tried. But I never stopped wanting you to save me. You are my brother, we should be together. Like this."

Well, that did it. One simple statement simultaneously broke and mended Pietro. He cried until there was nothing left and she gripped him as if he would disappear otherwise. She didn't cry - perhaps she couldn't - but Pietro could feel some of the tension leaving her body as if this was healing her as much as him. They lay there for a long time, existing together after existing for so long apart. It could have been hours and certainly, it was starting to go dark when she finally spoke.

"Pietro?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I will be angry tomorrow. I don't want to be."

"I know," he replied. "You should be angry. It's okay to be. Let us help you."

"But if I... if I hurt -"

Pietro propped himself up to look at her with a small smile. "You met Lance today. You know what he can do? He can literally crack the entire earth open with an earthquake. When he gets mad, he has to control that. And he does. He can teach you to do that."

"So he is dangerous and destructive too?"

"Well, yeah," Pietro said. "But he's a good guy. He'll make sure nobody ever hurts you. We all will."

Wanda's hard, hawk-like gaze softened at this. "Then I will protect you all too."

"Good, god knows they need it," scoffed Pietro. He was about to launch into a hilarious account of the 99 times the Brotherhood got their asses kicked when they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"It's Johnny," Johnny said from behind the door. "We ordered pizza. I brought up a box for you two."

Pietro looked to Wanda, who nodded her approval. When Johnny entered the room, she rose and grabbed the box hungrily, immediately stuffing a slice of pizza almost entirely into her mouth.

"Thank you," she said through a large mouthful. Johnny gave her that sunny, eye crinkling smile. "Not just for the food. Look at this; I have a room."

"It's a bloody nice room too," Johnny remarked, surveying the room as if it were the royal chamber in a palace.

Pietro was still lounging on the bed, letting Wanda have her fill of the pizza. There was nobody else in the world he would put before himself like this. He caught Johnny's wry smile and knew Johnny had noticed this act of sheer selflessness.

"We were just talking about destructive powers," Pietro told him. "Does Wanda know what you can do?"

Wanda's sharp eyes turned to Johnny, the intensity somewhat lessened by the fact that a slice of pizza was dangling half out of her mouth. "You are a dangerous mutant too?"

Johnny's hand went instinctively to his pocket. "Well, not if I'm careful."

"And if you are not?" Wanda asked curiously.

"I could burn down the entire state," Johnny shrugged as if it was nothing. "Barbecue whoever stood in my way, wipe out blocks and blocks in a fiery inferno..."

The pizza forgotten, Wanda stared at Johnny with growing interest. "So you make fire?"

Now this, Pietro knew, bugged Johnny. It was something everybody wanted to know, and the answer always came as something of a disappointment. However, either Johnny was hiding it really well or he was delighted by Wanda's curiosity.

"Actually, no. I manipulate fire, see. Would you like me to show you? I promise it'll be safe," he added, more to appease Pietro than anything.

Wanda nodded like a child about to see a magician at a birthday party. Johnny retrieved his beloved lighter from his pocket and flicked out a small flame, which before Wanda's eyes became a tiny rose under his power. Pietro found himself as enthralled as his sister - though he had seen Johnny use his powers many times in battle, he had never seen them used to charm. With a flick of his lighter, the rose and the flame vanished.

"That is wonderful!" Wanda said, with the closest thing to a smile she could muster. "You control your power very well. How did you learn?"

Johnny frowned, thumbing his lighter. "Practice, focus and learning to relax. Remember how I showed you in the asylum?"

"Breathe, 2 3 4, hold, 2 3 4 5 6 7 8, breathe 2 3 4," chanted Wanda.

Friend, comedian, writer, therapist... Was there anything StJohn Allerdyce couldn't do?

"Just like that," Johnny encouraged softly. "You'll get it in no time."

There was something so reassuring about Johnny. He was laid back in a way Pietro would never be, and Pietro could see the calming effect this had on Wanda. At some point, he might feel jealous of this but for now he simply felt warm and full. 

Johnny shifted his weight on the warm, plushy rug Pietro had bought to cover one of Tabitha's wine stains. "Well, I should probably be getting back."

Pietro noticed a tiny flutter of disappointment cross Wanda's face. 

"Crash in my old room," he suggested. He'd only be sleeping in Lance's room or here, after all.

"Erm... Yeah, I should probably go back. No worries," Johnny tried to say this breezily, but he looked ever so slightly on edge.

"Just stay here man. It's fine."

When he was sure Wanda wasn't looking and concentrating once again on the pizza, Johnny locked eyes with Pietro and mouthed "Lance". Pietro rolled his eyes in a long-suffering way, knowing exactly what the painfully sexy but horribly possessive Avalanche was capable of.

"I'll be back in the morning," Johnny said, raising a hand in a wave to Wanda.

"I never like saying goodbye to you," she repliedp0, with even blunter honesty than Johnny. It must have been why they got on so well. Still, she waved back. Pietro matched her wave almost identically, and Johnny was gone.

Wanda viewed Pietro anxiously. "You will stay though, won't you?"

Pietro's heart lurched. "Yes, I'll be right here."

"Next to me?"

"Next to you."

And really, there was nowhere else he'd rather be. He had wanted to sneak into Lance's bed, but now he really didn't feel like that anymore. Sweet then sour, that was how it went. Ice cream that thawed, then melted into a sticky mess.

He closed his eyes and fell into a deeper sleep than he'd had in years.


End file.
